


The Great Romantics

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:32:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: The Great RomanticsRating: R – nooothing explicit but FLUFFYFLUFFYFLUFFY!Word Count: 2369Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles and I never will. Nor do I own their rights. Or thoughts, ideas and feelings.Summary: Paul's trying to teach John to be a bit more romantic than he normally is. I wonder why...Beta: gloigloi - thank you, not only for beta-ing the fic but also for the wonderful article about 'the English swear-words' (even though I haven't fully read it yet, or used it in this fic – I definitely will in the future though!)A/N: Because I'm a little bit bored and have a lot of annoying plot bunnies hopping around in my head, disturbing the thoughts I should be thinking. May be a bit crack-fic like although I didn't intend it as such. There are probably more one-shots on the way, as I'm a sucker when it comes to concentrating on only one story.I think I might write a Christmas fic, but in case I don't post anymore: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!Comments are lovely, criticism is welcome. x





	

**Author's Note:**

> Backup of old fic originally posted to the Beatles community JohnheartPaul, currently residing on key_to_imagine, currently in locked status. Summary contains the header as is on the LJ post.
> 
> Originally posted pre 28 DECEMBER 2008.

The Great Romantics 

 

''John,'' Paul whispered in the other man's ear, ''come to our hotel room as soon as you can, there's something I wanna show you.'' John noticed the smirk on Paul's lips, implying he had a plan.

He only nodded in reply, and then turned back to the conversation he was in. He wasn't as interested in what the others were talking about, not now he knew Paul had a surprise waiting for him,but he wanted to make Paul wait for another couple of minutes – not look too greedy for it this time. 

* * * 

When he entered the hotel room, his mouth fell open. 

Paul had decorated the room with... flowers. Candles were burning, and when John smelled the strange smell in the air he realised they were scented candles. The lights were dim, the curtains closed to block out any light, whether it was from the sun, the moon or the lights on the street outside. It looked ridiculous, actually. A room you'd find perfect for a romantic film set, not for them. 

Paul himself was nowhere to be seen. Typical. 

John sighed as he sat down on the bed. This was something Paul was capable of, sure, but with a girl, to charm himself into her pants. Not for him, he and Paul were only having sex. Bloody brilliant sex, true, but it was only sex! It was not a serious relationship they were involved in, it was only used as an outlet. There was no need to put this much work into a room, and besides, it all looked quite... queer. John snorted at his own choice of word, not missing his own sarcasm. 

On the bedside table lay a card. He hadn't seen it before, and impatient and curious as he was, John picked it up and opened it. His name was on the front anyway. 

'John' it started. 'I know you probably don't like the decorations in the room, and would most rather throw them out immediately (I know you would) but please don't. They serve a purpose. I'm sure you want to know what it is,' John rolled his eyes at this, 'but you'll have to wait a bit longer. I'll see you soon. Paul.' 

He threw the card back onto the small table, making the lamp fall to the floor with a loud crash. Paul sometimes annoyed him so much he thought about giving up their whole affair, but then they had that fabulous sex again (okay, he'd had fabulous sex with women as well, but this was so much better than any other sex he'd ever had so he definitely counted it as a reason) and he decided to stay. 

When his thoughts had calmed down again, but with his body still impatiently waiting for Paul, he started to hear pieces of music. First they were nothing but short fragments, quietly in the distance, but they grew louder as he paid more attention to it – longer as well, the length of a completed song he didn't recognize. 

He tried to locate the sound, and it was a lot easier than he'd thought at first: it came from the balcony. 

Without opening the curtains, he knew Paul would be standing there with a guitar in his hands. When he did open them, he saw it wasn't just that: he was wearing clothes that were in fashion a long time ago. Let's say... the dark ages. It was something John suspected a man of nobility would wear. The hat on Paul's hear had a feather on it, white and big and fluffy and frankly it made John chuckle. 

''Paul,'' he said as he opened the balcony door, ''this is bloody ridiculous!'' 

Paul only smirked at him, but continued playing the song. It sounded a lot like 'In My Life', John realised. 

''Paul! What the fuck?'' 

''Keep quiet, John,'' Paul whispered, barely audible over the soft strumming of the guitar, with every now and then some finger picking in between, ''I'm trying to teach you something.'' 

''You can hardly do that if I have no fucking clue what's going on, eh?'' John snorted. 

Paul chuckled. ''Does the word romantic ring a bell, mister Lennon?''

John raised an eyebrow. ''Romantic?'' 

''Yes, romantic,'' Paul said. 

''So now you're on the romantic tour, with music, candles and flowers, eh?'' John sneered. 

''Apparently,'' Paul replied, ''but you're fucking it up.'' 

''Ah,'' John said, noticing the cursing word, ''you curse as well!'' 

Paul rolled his eyes, then stopped strumming the guitar. ''That's not the point right now. C'mon, let's go inside,'' he said, pushing John back inside with one hand, while he carried the guitar in his other. 

''Sit,'' Paul demanded, as he tried to let the guitar balance on a chair. 

John sat down on the bed, following Paul's actions until he couldn't withhold his curiosity any longer. ''What on earth is this all about?'' 

''You're way too impatient,'' Paul said, as he sat down next to John. ''Just relax, alright?'' 

''I can't bloody relax,'' John got annoyed, ''you look like a bloody minstrel from the middle ages, the room stinks after those stupid scented candles and flowers are not necessary. I'm not a fucking bird, you know? And neither are you.'' 

''And you just want sex,'' Paul chuckled. 

John rolled with his eyes. ''Of course I want sex. I'm a man. You should too, and I thought you did!'' 

''I do,'' Paul corrected him. ''But it's not everything to love is it?'' 

''I didn't think our relationship was about love,'' John replied. ''All we do is fight, fuck and write songs.'' 

Paul sighed. ''You don't get it, do you?'' 

By now John was starting to get the feeling Paul was as annoyed by this as he was. What the? After all, if Paul set this up he shouldn't be, should he? 

''I don't,'' he said, the frustration sounding in his words. 

''Okay,'' Paul said, sighing again. ''It's because of women.'' 

''I knew it,'' John grunted. ''It always is.'' 

This time it was Paul's turn to roll with his eyes. ''I don't mean women in general. It's because of our girlfriends, or well... in your case your wi-'' 

''I get it,'' John cut him off. Paul bloody well knew he shouldn't mention his wife, he detested the word and the act of marriage. 

''Um,'' Paul replied, ''okay. Anyway, don't you think they want something more than just sex?'' 

''Dunno, I don't think so,'' John said. ''And even if they do, I don't fucking care. I barely see Cyn anyway, don't I?'' 

''Eh,'' Paul mumbled a bit, apparently thinking that this way John wouldn't notice he was at a loss of word. 

After a moment of silence, John started grinning. ''Just admit it, Macca, you secretly love this romantic shit.'' 

''Uh,'' Paul's face flushed slightly. ''It wasn't really my intention to make the room look like this,'' he apologized, half-heartedly trying to avoid John's question. 

''It was,'' John insisted. 

''It was meant to be for Jane,'' Paul said, ''I wanted to surprise her with a nice evening here, but she called me this morning to announce she was unable to come here today.''

''Right,'' John replied. ''Then you decided to invite me and go all sappy even though I am hardly romantic at all?'' 

''Yes.'' 

''And even though our little affair is hardly anything like how you're with Jane.'' 

''I did want to s-'' Paul said. 

''No,'' John interrupted. ''Lemme talk. You should've cancelled it. And certainly not invite me to come to your room when there's more than sex. I want to keep it the way it was,'' he stated. 

''What if I don't?'' Paul asked quietly, fumbling with one of his sleeves. 

''What do you mean, you don't? I thought we agreed the sex is good, and even better when we're sober?'' 

''I mean,'' Paul took a deep breath, ''I want to take it further. Our affair.'' 

''Explain yourself,'' John said, narrowing his eyes and looking at Paul. He was starting to get an idea about what Paul was going to say and wasn't sure whether he liked it. It would mean he had to quit lying to himself, and he didn't want to; it was nice the way it was. 

''I want a real relationship, John. This isn't enough for me anymore.'' Paul looked saddened. ''Aand, I thought this would get you in the romantic mood.'' 

''It doesn't,'' John lay his hand on Paul's shoulder. ''You really did this for Jane though, didn't you?'' 

Paul smiled. ''Well, yes, I guess so,'' he said. ''Maybe I had a feeling though.'' 

''Even if you'd had a feeling, I can be romantic. It's just... I don't know. I never feel like it,'' John chuckled and Paul joined him. 

''You're a lazy sod, know that, John Lennon,'' Paul said. 

''Mm,'' John hummed in reply, ''just, if you want me to be romantic you can ask.'' 

''Then show me,'' Paul smirked, both men enjoying their little game. 

''I will,'' John promised. 

He brought up a hand to Paul's face, and leaned in. The kiss was tender, and slow, different to most other times when it was hurried and frantic and loaded with sexual tension. He stroked his hand through Paul's thick hair, pressing their bodies softly together, so Paul had to lie down on the bed and John settled atop of him. 

When he pulled away from the kiss, John felt strangely calm, with a new feeling to pool in his stomach. Paul looked at him with a glint in his eyes that betrayed he was feeling the same. 

''You're hard,'' John smiled at Paul. ''You can never keep this romantic shit up for much longer.'' 

Paul smiled back. ''So are you. I bet you give in to your animalistic needs sooner.'' 

''We'll see,'' John said as he moved his head to Paul's neck, nipping at it softly. Paul's breathing was heavy, and he looked nice in the clothes, John had to admit. It gave him a dream-like appearance, the horse on the white prince or whichever way it was around. Especially with the perfectly shaped red pouty lips, his big brown eyes, lovely nose – not too big nor too small, the arching of his eyebrows, his pale skin compared to his dark hair. 

John started to unbutton the cream-coloured shirt Paul was wearing, popping them slowly out of their holes. He knew his hands were cold, and whenever he briefly touched the warm skin of Paul's stomach the man underneath him shivered. John kissed the places where goosebumps would occasionally appear, smiling against the skin that radiated more and more warmth as he moved down. 

When he was done, he opened Paul's shirt, exposing all of his bare chest and stomach, the trail of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his trousers. Normally he wouldn't have moved so slowly, and even if he had he would have moved onto removing Paul's trousers right now. Tonight he didn't. 

Instead he moved back to Paul's face, his thigh carefully placed between Paul's thighs so he would be feeling some friction, while John himself didn't, this way he noticed his own arousal less and he supposed it would be less tempting for him to give in. He started to kiss Paul again, over his entire face, and then started to whisper random little words of love in his ear. 

It was a lot easier than he would have guessed. They hadn't done any of this before, moving this slow or speaking tenderly and peacefully. Usually it was nothing but cursing words, saying how fucking good everything felt, and otherwise it was to say they were moving too slowly – everything had to be done faster, faster: their usual game. 

John thought he actually might be enjoying this more. 

Not because it was slow or calm. It was because of the faces Paul was pulling, how hard he was trying to keep back the swearing which John knew were on the tip of his tongue. 

''Paulll,'' he whispered in the younger man's ear, ''are you sure you don't want to give up yet?'' 

Paul groaned. ''I'm sure,'' he managed to bring out, half gasping as John thrust his thigh against him at the moment he'd opened his mouth. Paul bit on his lip, his eyes rolling back in his head as response to the delicious pressure right where he needed it. John grinned, glad to be the one in control. It wouldn't be much longer until Paul would give in. 

After another small nudge with his thigh against Paul, the other man groaned. He grabbed John's neck and started to kiss him ferociously, not playing the game along any longer.

John was over the moon, quickly unbuttoning Paul's trousers, freeing him of the strained feeling. Then he stood up and undressed himself. 

* * *

''John?'' Paul asked. 

John looked up, slightly disturbed as he'd been about to fall asleep. He'd been lying next to Paul, post-coïtal, with an arm over the other man's stomach. 

''Hm?'' he said when Paul didn't continue. 

''Looks like romantic didn't work out, did it?'' Paul grinned. 

''It didn't,'' John replied, hugging Paul closer. ''But at least I've proven I'm better at this.'' 

For a while it was quiet. John thought Paul had fallen asleep, and had admitted this was John's victory. He felt his own eyes fall closed, and his breathing got heavier as his thoughts slowed down. 

''But,'' Paul interrupted his slumber again, ''we need to do this again. I want to win.'' 

''You're making up excuses for being a sappy romantic,'' John grunted, ''now shut the fuck up. You can be the woman with all this post sex talk.'' 

''I'm no-'' 

''We'll talk tomorrow.'' 

''Oh. Bu-'' 

''Shut your gob or I'll shove a pillow in it.'' 

Then Paul finally was quiet. When John snorted because of his private joke – Paul could be such a girl sometimes – Paul covered John's mouth with his hand. After a while his grip weakened, and at last they both fell asleep. 

Because, after all, they could talk tomorrow. 

 

(The End)


End file.
